


Crazy in Love

by FreckledSkittles



Series: The Mike Dodds (!!!) Collection [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Crossdressing, Crushes, Developing Relationship, M/M, Mike Dodds Bingo, Minor Injuries, Undercover Missions, is there a tag for helping wrap someone's knee, or like that trope of "oh here lemme help you with that" and then they clean their wound or smth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: “I know we’re on the clock right now,” Nick says with a teasing smile, “but what’s the crush about?”Dodds sips at his drink, drums his fingers on the table, and gives a shrug. “I guess it’s mine. I don’t see a difference between me and Laila outside of our appearances.”Nick hums. “That makes sense. Is it a bad time to ask about it?”Dodds glances around them before he scoots closer. “Depends on what you wanna ask.”
Relationships: Nick Amaro/Mike Dodds, Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: The Mike Dodds (!!!) Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119560
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21
Collections: MIKE DODDS!!





	Crazy in Love

**Author's Note:**

> It is an absolute crime that this is the first fic I'm adding to the Mike Dodds collection and I will fully accept punishment for such a crime  
> But I hope that this 8k Domaro piece will make up for it because oh my G O D they are so ridiculously in love I swear
> 
> Thank you to Perpetual Motion for reviewing this halfway through when I got mild writer's block and thank you to sarahcakes613 for reviewing it when it was finished. I love my two moms <3
> 
> CAUTION WARNING for minor injuries and references to blood in the break beginning with "when did you learn to run in heels"  
> Also, this is a case fic and has heavy references to the case, including the crime that takes place (human trafficking) so if that makes you uncomfy, tread carefully and look out for yourself friend <3

Nick has been in plenty of undercover missions. He’s done heavy UC where he remained undercover for an extended period of time. He’s had to dress in clothes from his wardrobe and what was available from lost and found boxes. The personas have ranged from lackeys to bystanders, showing as much or as little information. He has cross-dressed before, both before and during SVU. Having a child, specifically a daughter, helped him get comfortable with wearing a wig or dress when the situation called for one. But he has never had to go to the extent that was just described to him.

“Say that again?”

Olivia looks between the detectives in front of her—Nick, Carisi, and Dodds—and the corners of her mouth twitch into an amused smile. “The trafficking ring run by Richard Morris is expecting a delivery in two weeks. One truck is coming south, and the SARA unit in Newark is going to handle that. We’re responsible for the other truck, which is coming from the north.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Nick huffs. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”

Olivia nods, removing her glasses and setting them on top of her head. “You’ll be in disguise. As drag queens, specifically. There’s a party at a nightclub a block away. And since it’ll be New Year’s Eve, and the other businesses around it will be closed, it’s our only option for cover.”

“Is there something special about this bar?” Carisi asks.

Rollins, sitting in front of the laptop that’s being displayed on the TV on the wall in front of them, pulls up a website for the club in question. It’s called “Plain Jane’s” but there is nothing plain about it as far as Nick can tell. The site itself has a pink leopard-pattern background and yellow accents on the leopard spots. The picture of the club’s exterior replicates the background in big blocky letters.

“There’s a New Year’s party that evening,” Olivia says as Rollins scrolls down the page and clicks on the poster for the event. It’s not as garish as the rest of the club’s advertisement, but Nick isn’t sure just how good that is, considering the New Year’s Eve party is specifically asking for drag queens.

“‘Regardless of your gender, come out to PJ’s and show us what you got,’” Rollins recites. Nick bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from glaring at the smirk in her voice. “‘Free admission for anyone in drag.’ I think I’m a little jealous.”

“You’re all doing drag for this,” Olivia states. “Except for Fin.”

“Why Fin?” Carisi frowns. Nick gives Liv a similar look, though with a bit more bitterness to match.

“He’ll be off-duty so he can watch Jaden while Ken and Alejandro have a night for themselves.”

“Isn’t he lucky,” Nick huffs.

Rollins scoffs at him. “What, is your masculinity so fragile that you can’t even handle one night in a dress?”

“If there’s any problem, it’s that we’ll have less rights than we normally do,” Dodds mumbles under his breath, his tone indicating the sarcasm in the statement. Carisi chuckles in response and nudges him.

“That’s not the problem,” Nick says. “Drag is all about illusions, right? How far do we have to go?”

“I’m not going to make you tuck, if that’s your concern,” Olivia muses. Rollins lets out a cackle; Nick kicks her under the table. “But since you’ll be in drag, it’s important that you look like you know what you're doing.”

“So tucking.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I’m bookmarking videos right now,” Rollins laughs.

“Is tucking what it sounds like?” Dodds asks. “You just…” He holds his left hand out flat and uses his right to bend it down. Rollins only laughs harder. Carisi shares a look with Nick over their Sergeant’s shoulder that can only be described as  _ Can you believe we’re ranked lower than this guy? _

And Nick’s stare in return can only be read as  _ Can you believe I have a thing for this guy? _

* * *

It happened slowly. A wistful gaze here, a smile there. The new Sergeant had rubbed Nick the wrong way on his name alone, but meeting him effectively erased those thoughts from his mind. Mike Dodds was bright, thinking with a pen in his mouth and a distant look in his eyes. He didn’t always enjoy his father’s endless praises about him, but when he was given any spotlight that celebrated his accomplishments, Dodds always reacted with a blush and bowed his head or looked away. He’s broad but not imposing, his movements graceful from years of boxing and careful with consideration of others around him.

It didn’t take long for Dodds to slide into their self-made family, almost as if he had been the missing piece they had been needing to complete them. Within a year of working with them, he was clinking glasses at holiday get-togethers and making coffee runs whenever the coffee machine broke down. And with the progress came Nick’s growing admiration for Mike Dodds: first as a detective, then as a person, and now as a possible companion that involves dates and kisses and whatever else couples did nowadays.

Nick prides himself on his charm. He knows the power his smiles can hold. His Spanish has worked for flirting and for attempts at pleasing  _ abuelitas _ . But when it comes to actually confessing to certain feelings, let alone addressing them to himself, he is rendered useless. Both Maria and Cynthia have pointed it out to him: he can charm anyone into giving into a request, but when it comes to trying to apply it to a romantic interest, it never works out well.

Maybe that’s why Carisi noticed. A few months back, at the end of summer, Carisi had sent him a YouTube link to a song without any context. Nick asked him about it— “I didn’t know you were a Beyoncé fan”—when they were both in the break room. Carisi’s answer— “It was my idea to send you something, it was Rafael’s to send ‘Crazy in Love’”—didn’t explain anything. Nick had followed his gaze to see Dodds at his desk. At the time, he was busy digging through databases to track down a suspect, a bit tired in his posture but the only evidence of it being the few strands of brown hair that were breaking free from its style and the occasional slow blink. His jacket was off, which meant the muscles on his arms were perfectly outlined when he moved a certain way. Just a lean back and he may as well be flexing against the white button-up.

“How’d you figure it out?” Nick asked.

Carisi looked over at Barba, arguing with Liv and Rollins outside of interrogation one, with a wistful smile. “How do you think?”

So Carisi knew Nick’s tiny secret—he liked Mike Dodds, in a way that was less than professional—and he swore to keep it. Barba probably knew based on how well he could read his boyfriend—and he could, the man missed his calling as a detective with how strong his instincts were. Liv definitely knew—Nick considers her one of his closest friends, so telling her was obvious. His kids and former partners might know, though perhaps not who had him distracted. Not because he wasn’t out—being bisexual had always been a footnote for him, a casual mention to partners or love interests, because it was his business who he found attractive and no one else’s.

He has yet to ponder on the possibility of anything he has to offer being reciprocated by Mike Dodds. And so far, Nick’s not sure how far he wants to go in exploring that option. It could very easily backfire on him and make working together extremely difficult and nightmarish.

* * *

“Should I be concerned that you three are watching a tutorial on tucking?”

Carisi jumps to his feet when Barba, smirking and leaning against the door frame, appears in the doorway to the conference room. He and Carisi greet each other with a kiss; Nick offers a wave. The three of them—he, Carisi, and Dodds—had been looking up resources on how to tuck their genitals and make their silhouettes more believable as women. Two of the queens from the nightclub were coming over later in the afternoon to take measurements and establish their undercover identities for next week. Their other undercover operations rarely needed coaches to guide them, but because of the nature of drag personas, it was recommended that they plan ahead of time.

Carisi and Nick had been simply listening to the videos they had found, but Nick’s mind was starting to numb with how much information he had been exposed to. He hopes he’ll be able to break it down later and make better sense of it. Carisi must be the same way, based on the conversations they’ve had in the past about being undercover, except he was starting to fall asleep. Dodds took notes, scribbling on a notepad and staying as rigidly straight as when they had first entered the room. When Barba appears, he pauses the video and stands to greet the prosecutor.

“We’re doing research for an undercover job,” Dodds explains with a nod to the projector. “Nightclub celebrating drag personas on New Year’s Eve.”

“Sounds fun,” Barba smirks. “I wish I would have been invited to watch the disaster play out.”

“Hey, c’mon,” Carisi pouts at him, “have some faith.”

“I’m sure the stint will go down well. You’re all competent.” He pauses and adds, “when you need to be. But I would love to see you three bumbling around in high heels.”

Nick chuckles at that. “I’ll have you know, I’ve been an incredible princess for Zara.”

Carisi nods as if remembering his own experience with three sisters and two nieces. “Yeah, I’ve walked in high heels before!”

Barba looks over at Dodds and chuckles when he shrugs and looks away. “I’ll take it. One-third is better than nothing at all.”

“Did you come here just to make fun of us?” Dodds asks, bowing his head the same way he does when he’s flustered from compliments.

“Among other things.” Barba eyes Carisi when he says that, and the taller man hops in place and grins. Barba was expected today, but just like any other visit, he always found time to greet his boyfriend and steal a kiss or three.

Nick scrunches his nose up when they share a kiss and nudges Dodds to get his attention. “Let’s give them a minute. I think I hear Liv calling from the other room.”

Dodds gives the two one last look before he nods and follows Nick out of the room. They keep the door partially open, just enough to give them privacy. They had been walked in on enough times to know better, but a small example never went wrong. Dodds stops at his desk and checks the time on his phone. “We have a few minutes before the queens get here,” he says. “Want anything from the breakroom?”

“A bag of chips would be great,” Nick says. The only detectives around are him and Dodds at the moment; Liv is in her office on a phone call, and Rollins and Fin must have gone on a call in an effort to weaken their workload before the holidays. There’s a strange stillness in the room that is uncharacteristic of their work space but strangely satisfying.

Dodds drops off two bags on Nick’s desk. “Baked Lays or Cheeto’s?”

“The Lays.” Nick thanks him for the bag and pops a chip in his mouth. “Cheeto’s are a little too daring today.”

Dodds shrugs and opens the orange bag. “I like a good crunch.” He takes a loud bite to prove his point, smiling when Nick chuckles to himself. A giddy rush passes through his gut; the thought that he’s their Sergeant is shocking with how loose and casual he can act. As if to prove his point, Dodds sits on his desk until he can dangle his legs above the ground. Nick tries not to focus too hard on his spread legs, which aren’t only enticing but also distracting with how pronounced his thighs are when he sits. “Have you thought about what your drag name is gonna be?”

Nick shakes his head and leans against his own desk, parallel to Mike’s. “I think I’ll wait for it to come to me. It’s how I picked UC names in Narcotics.”

Dodds gives a quiet laugh. “Going old-school, huh?”

A smile twitches at the corners of his lips, and he lets himself laugh just once at the lighthearted tease. “I’m not old enough for old-school.”

“It’s not about the age. It’s what’s in here,” Dodds points to his heart, his finger hovering just above his left pec. Nick feels the air exit the room and leave him breathless—all for a finger that doesn’t even touch him. He must be really weak if something as trivial as that is getting that strong of a reaction. Even when Dodds leans back with a thoughtful hum, his eyes wandering to the ceiling, it leaves a cold space where he had once been. “I’m thinking about Laila.”

Nick clears his throat and stuffs three more chips in his mouth. “No last name?”

“I’m working on it. I wanted to go with a pun, but there’s not a lot you can do with Laila.”

“You can go with something like…” Nick’s brain halts as he reaches a mental roadblock and loses the words he wanted to say. He tries to think back to the point he was trying to make but he falls flat. And the cheese dust on Dodds’ nose definitely doesn’t help. “I dunno. Maybe a physical description. It’s obviously referring to you, but you can twist it so that it’s not on-the-nose, y’know?”

Dodds thinks on it for a second, and then he breaks out into a joyous grin. “That’s a good idea. I’ll ask the queens for tips once they arrive.”

“There you go.” It might not have been exactly what he was going for, but he’ll take the victory if it makes Dodds smile at him like that.

Later on, when they’re getting bust measurements and chatting about drag names with the two queens, one of whom is Plain Jane herself and is as plain as her website is, Dodds is inspired by the comments made about his bra size. Laila Teacup has a pleasing ring to it, especially when a dainty, elegant teacup is being associated with a tall, broad-shouldered man.

Nick just hopes he can keep it together on New Year’s Eve to get through the night.

* * *

Nick cannot keep it together on New Year’s Eve.

It’s been thirty minutes since they arrived at the nightclub, already sweaty from the accumulated crowd of drag personas and laughter over the soft beat of the music, and Nick has to dig the fake nails on his fingers into his thighs to stop his thoughts from pouring out and embarrassing him. Rollins, in drag of her own with two other UCs, remains at the bar with a perfect view of the door while Nick, Carisi and Dodds mingle at a high top table toward the center of the nightclub.

Carisi—Justine Prudence, a law pun he was extremely proud of—looks the most like himself despite the makeup and outfit, the prominent point of his nose meshing just enough with the smoky eyeshadow and jet-black lipstick to define him. Nick—Isabel Pepper, which he had come up with after serious consideration and was extremely proud of—was amazed at how comfortable everything was, even with his balls tucked into his pelvis and his dick sandwiched between his scrotum, and even with the four-inch heels he had practiced wearing just for this case. But Dodds—Laila Teacup—is something else entirely.

Nick feels bad for the amount of time he’s spent ogling Dodds as Laila. There was nothing wrong with how Dodds looked in the first place—soft brown hair, warm chocolate eyes, a smile that could melt even the strongest metal and a voice that was more melodic than an aria. The drag simply accented those points and made them pop. Dodds had settled on a strawberry blonde wig that went just over his shoulders in big rolling curls. His makeup, at the discretion of the queens who couldn’t stop talking about his bone structure and skin, leaned more towards neutral except for his lips, which popped with a bright red stain. His silhouette—the outline of his body—was the most convincing: a cinched waist thanks to the bustier built into the emerald green A-line dress, the straps just off his shoulders; his bust was accented with padding but made all the more sultry and convincing with the contours applied to his chest. In the right lighting, Laila was curvy, and with a shy tilt of her head and a smile, anyone would bow to her will. Nick was seconds away from doing exactly that.

“You two are getting a lot of attention,” Nick points out once the fourth person comes over to hit on them. It was taking a bit to get used to being called “ladies,” but with how they looked, Nick would be offended if they got anything less.

“Don’t act like your smile isn’t winning them over,” Carisi laughs. “Purple is a dangerous color for you.”

Nick shrugs in teasing modesty and takes a sip of his drink. Being undercover came naturally to him, but being in drag felt like a perfect match for him—creating an identity that strayed far enough away to be distinct from him but close enough that he could still be true to who he was. Once he could do that as Isabel, piecing together the look was no problem. The purple jumpsuit added enough flare to define feminine curves and accent his masculine attributes like his biceps to create an androgynous facade, perfected with long brown hair that traveled low down his back and a dark stain over his lips.

“The purple, the boobs, the hair,” Mike lists off, glancing to the side with a wistful look in his eyes. It sounds borderline interested, distracted at the very least, and Nick can’t help but comment.

“You sound lovesick, Laila,” he teases. He leans forward to show off just a bit more cleavage to Mike and to coyly rest his elbow on the table, chin tucked into his palm, his eyes half-lidded with a shimmer of raspberry eyeshadow. “Sporting a crush?”

Dodds swallows, eyes wide and wild with a want Nick can only mirror back. He isn’t sure if his message is getting across, but from the soft half-lid of his eyes, the urgency within his gaze, he can only assume it’s being properly conveyed. When Dodds leans forward, the light bouncing off his hair and highlighting the round shape of his breasts, Nick’s gut spirals. “I might be. Would you like to know more?”

Nick stares at him. Carisi says something but he’s too focused on Dodds to process it. What he does know is that the two of them are now alone, with both too much space between them and too little, and there is a horde of things that could happen now. Nick fidgets with his glass and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. The longer half falls over his shoulder, some of it tucked into his exposed chest. Dodds’ eyes follow his hands with laser precision, the intensity of his gaze flaring. They speak at the same time:

“Your hair looks nice.”

“Whose crush is it?”

Dodds chuckles and bows his head. “You go first.”

Nick thought he had heard something interesting from him, but he takes the cue to continue and makes a note to ask about it later. “I know we’re on the clock right now,” Nick says with a teasing smile, “but what’s the crush about?”

Dodds sips at his drink, drums his fingers on the table, and gives a shrug. “I guess it’s mine. I don’t see a difference between me and Laila outside of our appearances.”

Nick hums. In the short time they had researched drag, it was easy to see that drag personas were parts of a person that were highlighted in a specific way, exaggerated in some instances, and defined in others. The example that stuck out to him was for a queen whose name—Ben de la Crème—literally stated she was the best of Ben, the person under the wig. Maybe that’s why drag names were regarded with so much emphasis. “That makes sense. Is it a bad time to ask about it?”

Dodds glances around them before he scoots closer. They were closer in height outside of heels, but even with them, Dodds still owns a few inches over him. “Depends on what you wanna ask.”

A spiral of heat flares up Nick’s spine and coils at the base of his neck. There are a million questions he could ask and all of them sound like great ideas, but he can’t settle on just one. Confirming the crush’s identity, asking if it’s him, pushing himself forward so that he closes just as much distance as Dodds has—a headache threatens to form at his temple. Nick wants every answer he can get out of Dodds, satisfying every question he can think of, even if he has to scramble his way through speaking coherently. Limited space and the imagery of Dodds being  _ so close now  _ will do that to a person.

Carisi suddenly comes back to their table, one hand holding the clutch purse he had chosen to hold his badge and a few makeup items in case he needed a touch-up. The urgency and serious quality of his eyes conveys all they need to know before a word can be shared. “Looks like there are some shooting stars out tonight,” he states, precise and crisp. Nick raises his head; Dodds’ back goes ramrod straight. When the code word—shooting stars—was used, the less covert part of their stakeout was enacted.

The traffickers must have been spotted in the vicinity or caught pulling up to their drop-off point. It’s time to get to work. Nick can ask his questions later.

* * *

They arrange a plan quickly—the truck is parked but their suspects remain unseen for right now. Dodds puts himself between Carisi and Nick and tells them to follow his lead before they walk down the street. They’ll have to pass as drag queens, at least for a little bit, before they make the arrest to grab the suspect’s attention and gauge if they’ve caught him or not. Carisi and Nick have been undercover more than enough times to function as their identities without much guidance.

Nick manipulates his voice so that the pitch is a bit higher than normal. The tone of his speaking voice isn’t too heavy to manipulate into sounding better fit for his appearance. Carisi had a bit more work to do, but with the way Dodds laughs, as melodic as his regular voice and effortlessly pitched higher in disguise, there’s not much to worry about. Almost instantly, Dodds gets the man’s attention as they walk across the street, keeping the two of them focused on their faux conversation. Nick was dividing his attention too much to really think about the details of what they were saying. On closer inspection, in jeans and a worn polo, the man’s features match the description they were looking for—long nose, blue eyes, and average height with a heavier build. The moving truck he’s standing at the back of has a wilting flower on the side.

“Hello, ladies,” he greets them when they walk past. They freeze at the sound of his voice and coo to each other; Dodds gives a teasing wave. Carisi shares what Nick can see as a forced look of interest but will be deemed a coy look to a friend. “Having fun tonight?”

“You can say that,” Dodds—Laila—says in a flirting tone. The other man jumps at his voice, perhaps underestimating the underlying masculine tones to it, but doesn’t comment further. If he has a problem with the three of them walking between the obscured lines of gender expression, he stays silent and generally unbothered by it. “How’s yours?”

“Much better, now.” Nick represses a shiver at how slimy the man made those words. He’s probably praising himself for being smooth. The man nods behind them at the club. “You work at Jane’s?”

Laila sighs wistfully, clearly pulling on the man’s sympathy for a woman in mild inner conflict. “I wish. I would submit an application if I wasn’t so scared of singing in front of strangers.”

“Laila has an amazing voice,” Carisi, as Justice, states. “She used to do theater in college.”

The man grins. “I believe it. You look like you have a good set of pipes on you.” His eyes briefly glance at Laila’s chest before drifting between Justice and Nick. “What about you two? Any secret talents?”

I’m more of a dancing queen,” Justice says and shows off with two quick pirouettes. Her decision to not wear heels paid off. The skirt of her polka-dot dress flares out, loose against her hips like silk and billowing gently against her legs when she stands again. Looks like Carisi’s childhood experience as a ballerina had finally paid off. The man claps, and Justice curtsies in thanks.

When the other man glances at him in expectation of an answer, Nick steps into his persona of Isabel and lets her take over. “I’m what you’d call a Jackie-of all trades. Singing, dancing, acting—I can do it all.” She winks at the end of her statement and smiles. The man clears his throat, an obvious blush flushing his cheeks; Nick preens at how easy it had been to affect this man. Perhaps this could go much faster than they had anticipated. “You got a name?” Isabel asks, tilting her head and smiling with the exact amount of warmth needed to make him comfortable.

“You can call me Fisher,” the man says. Robert Fisher was the man they were expecting to make the delivery—without a doubt, they had him. “I’m more of a last name man.”

“You know, I may have a video of my singing,” Laila says as she starts to dig through the evening bag gently placed on her shoulder. “Let me find my phone.”

“Take your time.” Fisher focuses on Justice and Isabel, who have moved closer together and giggle at the look he shoots them. It’s not at all as smooth as he thinks, but Carisi and Nick play it up to distract him from whatever delay Dodds is giving them.

“What are you out here for?” Justice asks. She twirls a strand of her big blonde hair for extra emphasis.

Fisher glances at the truck like it’ll jump out and scare him at any second. “A friend of mine had a shipment prepared for his restaurant. They use New Year’s Eve as a chance to restock.”

“They must be well-off,” Isabel muses aloud. “They could get a lot of business on a night like tonight.”

“It’s a…,” Fisher pauses and then shrugs, “different kind of restaurant.” His hand grabs the handle dangling from the truck’s back. “I can show you, if you want.”

“Damn,” Laila huffs, “I couldn’t find my phone, but I found this.” She takes her hand out of her bag and flashes Fisher her badge. Almost instantly, Dodds’ voice returns to its regular register. “Robert Fisher, you’re under arrest.”

Fisher pauses for maybe two seconds and then pushes past Isabel and Justice in a sprint. Nick stumbles but catches himself; Carisi falls back and waves them ahead. “I got the truck!” He hollers. Rollins and her two UCs emerge to assist him.

Running in heels wasn’t ideal, but Nick is thankful he made sure to get some practice with it. He had asked both Maria and Cynthia beforehand and their amusement at him thinking running in heels was possible for him was matched with some helpful advice. If he was going to do it, use a heel with a strap; and he should be comfortable in heels before even trying. Maria had suggested practicing by running on the balls of his feet; Cynthia reminded him to not be an idiot about his choices after the fact. And every video he could find on it reminded him to stretch his feet afterwards.

Nick had put effort and thought into how he would run in heels, and while it’s not proving to be as complicated thanks to practice, Dodds makes it look effortless. He catches up to Fisher in no time and wraps his arms around him, bringing them both down. Dodds’ dress billows out as he tumbles down but he stands back up to press Fisher against the wall of a nearby building. He has the man restrained with the cuffs he had in his evening bag before Nick can even participate. Nick slows, his feet instantly crying out at having to run like this, and he notices a small tear in the seam of Dodds’ dress and the red scrape across his knees. “Mike—”

“I’m okay,” he says, barely sparing him a glance before he starts to Mirandize their suspect.

* * *

“When did you learn to run in heels?”

Dodds glances up from where he’s sat in the break room, dabbing at his knees with alcohol-soaked cotton swabs. They had made it back to the squad room with Fisher and six teens found in the back of the truck. So far, they’ve gathered all six names and their home addresses, locating them with precincts across the country that have had their missing child cases open. Carisi keeps them company, still in drag as Justice, askew wig and all. Nick and Dodds, neither willing to de-drag outside of removing their heels until they were relieved for the night, were discussing how to go about interrogating Fisher when Nick popped the question.

“My brother and I used to do Walk A Mile In Her Shoes,” Dodds says. He hisses at a long press to his left knee; he hasn’t even gotten to the right one, which has yet to be properly cleaned. “His college girlfriend was an activist and persuaded us to do it. Then we started doing it for the message.”

Nick knows about the Walks–men walk a mile in high heels to raise awareness about sexualized violence. He’s seen the posters in the squad room for it, and the opportunity to speak at one of the marches had been brought to their attention. Olivia, sometimes Fin, were typically the ones who went. Nick realizes with a start just how much meaning could come from his presence as an SVU detective speaking out for a cause like that. Philanthropy wasn’t new to him, but doing it to do it—not just for work-related reasons—could make even the slightest difference.

“I didn’t do it again until my dad became Chief and Olivia got him to go.”

Nick grins at the image that statement has—Deputy Chief William Dodds, generally viewed as tough yet dedicated, has walked a mile in high heels. “I would love to see a picture of that.”

Dodds smiles back, but it vanishes when he leans forward to touch his knee again. A jolt of pain ripples through him, his free hand clutching his left side almost instantly. Nick jumps up from leaning against the wall. Dodds waves him back. “I’m fine, just…my side—”

“Hold on,” Nick says and makes a beeline for the bathroom connected to the break room. He washes his hands thoroughly and returns to pull up a chair and sit in front of Dodds. He doesn’t give Dodds any chance to react and dabbles a new cotton swab with alcohol. “Don’t strain yourself, Sarge.”

Dodds lets out a sigh that indicates defeat and he leans back in his chair. Nick gently starts pressing the swab on his left knee, keeping his other hand underneath it in a tender grasp to keep him steady. The scrapes were wider than they were deep, and Olivia had nearly scolded Dodds when she saw them. She wasn’t letting him do anything until he got cleaned up, and she instructed Nick to make sure of it. A burst of fondness wells up inside his chest at how intimate the situation has become from that.

“Is your side okay?” Nick asks, barely looking up from cleaning his knee. He grabs the gauze, better suited for wide cuts like these and more likely to hold on over his knees, and wraps it twice over his kneecap.

“Yeah,” Dodds nods, “I’m fine.” He watches Nick work for a moment, Nick discarding the used swab in a folded tissue and readying another. “I might have ran a bit too hard back there.”

“Well, it looked good.” Nick starts cleaning his right knee, first the outside where some blood had gotten as he moved, then the inside. He warns Dodds with a quiet warning—“Be prepared to flinch”—before he goes over the scrape. “If you let me check it, I won’t tell anyone.”

Dodds, flinching at the contact to his injury, chuckles at that and tucks his hands underneath the skirt of his dress. The deep emerald green looked amazing on him. If he were a man with a better handling of his tongue when confronted with people he was attracted to, Nick would comment on how complimentary it was. He settles for focusing on Dodds’ knee instead and not on the heat of his cheeks.

For a moment, the break room is silent, Nick working on cleaning Dodds’ knee and Dodds watching Nick work. He can feel those eyes, pale brown like swirls of cinnamon, zeroed in on him. It’s taking everything within him to not meet his eyes and get lost in them, to swim in the warmth or wonder if his lips would leave a red stain on his cheek. Nick loved a kiss that left a mark behind. And now, seconds from getting Dodds to lift his dress up to inspect his side while he gets his knee cleaned, is not the time to think about it.

With the right knee finally cleaned and wrapped, Nick sits up with a sigh and forces himself to look Dodds in the face. “So,” he says, trying to hide his flustered nervousness with a chuckle, “can I check your side?”

Dodds nods, his lips pressing together, and he lifts his dress up and holds it just enough to pull the waistline closer to his bra. Nick keeps his eyes on the skin of his torso, what’s visible above the lacy band of teal panties, and spots the faint scar of a bullet hole on his side. There’s no bruising near the area, perhaps a bit of red from bending over, but nothing that looks too serious to warrant medical concern.

Nick leans forward and starts to reach for the scar but catches himself and stops before he makes contact. “Sorry, can I, um…”

“Touch me?” Dodds finishes. He gives a shy smile at Nick’s confirming hum. “Yes.” It shouldn’t sound so breathless—Nick must truly be imagining things now—but with a single shake of his head and a bite of fake nails into his palm, he regains his composure and touches Dodds’ side. His skin feels warm to the touch, a bit chilled from the exposure, but otherwise fine and smooth. Nick slides his hand back and forth in minute movements, looking for any signs of damage. The muscles are firm, reacting with small hiccups of breaths each time Nick’s fingers ghost over him. There doesn’t appear to be any damage done, which is a relief.

Nick makes the mistake of looking up when deciding to update him. His voice vanished instantly at the earnest look in Mike’s eyes. He looks more like himself than he ever does, even with the strawberry blonde wig framing his face and the bright red redefining thin lips. If anything, the look of Laila Teacup is a perfect emphasis on what makes Mike look so incredible. And to think, Nick muses to himself, that appearance is matched with an inside so soft and thoughtful and sincere. Anyone who would be his partner would be lucky to have Mike Dodds. Hell, anyone who knows him is lucky.

There’s a knock on the break room door. Dodds drops his dress as Nick flies backward into his seat. Rollins, out of her drag save for her clothes, glances between the two with a curious brow raised, her knuckles still resting on the door. “Fisher’s ready in interrogation two when you guys are good to go,” she says. She glances between them, and the corners of her lips quirk into a smirk when she catches Nick’s eyes. If Carisi didn’t tell her about his interest in Mike, Nick definitely just did without saying a word. “Unless you need another minute?”

“We’re fine,” Nick and Mike say simultaneously. Mike stands and adjusts the hem of his dress. “Tell Liv we’re ready.”

* * *

“I didn’t know they were being trafficked.”

“Six teenagers between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, all of whom say you ignored them when they told you they were kidnapped and didn’t wanna be there, tossed into and restrained in your truck. What did you think was gonna happen?”

Fisher narrows his eyes at Dodds. “I liked you better as a woman.”

“And Laila hated you from the second you opened your mouth.” Dodds leans across the table; Nick knows his chest still looks good with how fast Fisher’s eyes steal a glance down. He adjusts his voice to sound like Laila and says, “Scummy men will tell you they’re scum and you won’t have to say a thing.”

“Go easy on the guy,” Nick says. “He says he didn’t know, he didn’t know.” Their plan had included the deduction that Fisher was a middle man who was simply following orders and not questioning them. Not only did Newark’s SARA unit run into the same issue, but both departments had come to an agreement when they caught their suspects. The person they were looking for was the one calling the shots. The two schmucks they picked up at the truck were nothing but fodder. Just like the person—Morris—running the operation in New York, there was someone else supplying the teens.

Fisher and Dodds both look at Nick, the former with quiet apprehension and the latter with faux aggravation. “Being complacent makes you just as guilty, Amaro.”

Nick sighs like he’s irritated with an answer he’s heard before; to Fisher, it should be just enough to pass as relatability. There’s a small rap on the window, the signal to give Dodds a few seconds alone with the suspect. Nick pushes against the wall he was leaning against and exits interrogation two. As soon as the door closes behind him, he lets out a long breath and rolls his shoulders. “I think we’re making progress,” he says to Rollins and Olivia, supervising the interrogation.

“You’re doing good,” Olivia says with a smile. “When you go back in, pull Mike out and seal this case for us.”

Nick nods as Barba strolls in; he thought he had heard the prosecutor reacting to his boyfriend’s appearance. When Barba lays eyes on him, he breaks into an impressed smile and hums. “Purple, huh? I’d’ve thought you were trying to seduce me, Detective,” he teases.

“I don’t think I’m quite your type, Counselor,” Nick fires back. Barba chuckles and joins him at the one-way mirror. Dodds is mostly prodding at Fisher for answers, acting on the more dominant traits of a boss waiting for a lackey to follow orders. “You debriefed yet?”

“Liv filled me in on the kids, not much else.”

“We picked him up at a truck parked in front of Plain Jane’s. His physical description and the truck fit what we were given. He talked about a shipment for a friend’s restaurant.”

“Just like Philly.” Barba sighs and turns away from the mirror to pace a bit. “What did he say when you met him?”

“Aside from some shitty flirting, he was interested in showing us what was in his truck. Almost like he wanted to show it off.”

“Assumptions won’t do us any good, but I’ll take your word for it. He wanted to show you what was in the truck and that’s enough to charge him as an equal.”

“If…” Rollins trails off, and Barba rolls his eyes.

“If he gives up his boss before Newark does, I’ll think about taking away a charge, but I’m not gonna be lenient on this. If I put the final three for RuPaul’s Drag Race on the stand, either for a grand jury or a criminal trial, we can prove intent and give him just as much time.”

“I’m not trying to defend him,” Rollins argues, her brow furrowing, “I’m just trying to prepare for the scenario that says his boss is just as low on the ladder than him.”

“What Amanda’s probably trying to say,” Olivia cuts in, most likely to avoid any conflict between the two, “is that this might not be our case if the one giving orders is not just Fisher’s boss.”

“Good,” Barba huffs, “federal interference is just what I needed.” He puts his hands on his hips and glares between the two. “If you’re going to add to my migraine, can one of you at least switch with my boyfriend so I can get some relief?”

“Here, let me go back in, and Mike can switch out,” Nick says as Olivia knocks on the window with a resigned sigh. Nick barely has any time to say anything as he walks in before Dodds is staring at him, looking down his nose bitterly without a word. Nick nearly forgets to remind himself that it’s not personal before he goes in.

Fisher is sitting ramrod straight in his chair, eying Nick with a bit less skepticism than he had gotten before. Nick nods to him in greeting and takes Mike’s seat. “He’s a tougher boss than I would’ve thought,” Fisher states.

“Yeah, well,” Nick shrugs, “it comes with the job. SVU’s an elite unit, and, y’know, he’s a Sargeant, so he has to be taken seriously.”

“I get it,” Fisher nods. If there was anything else he wanted to say, he keeps it inside, only showing it through his hesitant gaze. Nick uses it as an opportunity to keep talking.

“I actually used to have a crush on the guy. Before I found out he was a dick.”

“Really?”

Nick nods. “He came here a few years after me, but his dad got him a job here to boost his resume.” The lie bites the back of his tongue. “Thinks just because he got here by his name alone and he’s a ranked officer, he has more authority over us. He probably mentioned his dad’s a Deputy Chief here.”

Fisher glances to the side with a disgruntled huff. Nick reminds himself to praise Dodds for the early prep work. “Yeah, it came up plenty of times.”

“Sorry about that. The man can’t help himself, y’know?”

The man hesitates again, although this time he actually speaks up.“I do know, actually. Um…,” he glances at the mirror behind Nick, maybe watching his reflection or in some vain effort to spot the people behind it. “The guys who run the operation. They’re just like that.”

Nick nods in understanding, though he knows they’re inches from getting a confession. Barba’s probably hanging onto every word, buzzing between his boyfriend’s arms. “I could tell you were just the middle man in all this. Someone gives you a job, you do it without hesitating.”

“I didn’t know it was human trafficking. I usually do drugs, but my supplier knew a guy who was looking for a driver to handle a big haul.”

“Did you volunteer for it?”

“Business was slow for me. Our usual dealers weren’t requesting as much. Smaller doses for bigger highs, I guess. I was promised a lot of money.” Fisher’s eyes narrow, and he emphasizes, one last time, “If I knew there were people, I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Yeah, but you drove the truck.” Nick presses his hands into the table for emphasis, his fake nails clipping across the surface. “You gotta make sure the product’s there before you head out on the road. And I’m sure you got instructions to take care of them, right? Six dead teenagers can’t do you any good.”

Fisher is silent, then sighs, and slumps in his chair. The handcuffs on his wrist shift as he does. “Once I agreed to the job, I couldn’t back out. They didn’t let me.”

“Give me a name, Fisher. They got you to do a job like this, which means they have more people doing it. And if you really care about those kids you helped traffic, you’ll give me a name.”

He hates playing the role of sympathetic cop, but if it gets him results, he’ll do it every time the opportunity presents itself. It takes another minute, Nick waiting patiently despite the roaring irritation at the delay, but Fisher breaks and gives every name he can. Finally, they can get some justice done.

* * *

Nick sags against the drink machine and lets out the breath he had been holding. Fisher had given them much more than they had expected, and Olivia had no choice but to alert the feds. They would probably be removed from the case until their resources were needed for a search. Nick was happy they were able to do something with their arrest. He presses a button for a soda when he hears someone come up behind him and linger at the door. 

“I heard you got Fisher to confess,” Dodds says, standing in the doorway.

Nick smirks and grabs the can that pops into the drink machine’s tray. “I’m not gonna take all the credit. You did the first half of the work.” He catches the look in his eyes as he straightens up and finally makes eye contact with him.

“I also heard,” Dodds strides over to Nick in a few easy steps, “that you had a crush on me.”

Nick opens and closes his mouth but no sound comes out. Dodds couldn’t have been there for long when he got out, having switched with Carisi so that he could help soothe Barba, but he would have been updated as a Sergeant. And while Nick had used his personal experience to get the information he needed, he didn’t think it was a detail Mike needed to know. Unless he heard it in passing right as he left, knowing just enough to push the pieces together.

Dodds’ shoulders tense and his tone eases back to a cautious one. “Or was that Isabel?”

Nick finally composes himself and clears his throat. “I mean, there’s not much of a difference between me and Isabel, is there?”

They share a moment of eye contact—Nick’s stomach flips at the earnest glint in Mike’s eyes, the sincerity flowing through his body—before Nick closes the rest of the distance between them. He tucks a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind Mike’s ear, follows the curve of his lips with his eyes, lingers down to his padded chest and bare neck. Mike reaches for his other hand and, with a gentle grasp of his wrist, places Nick’s palm against his left side, right where he had touched before.

“At Plain Jane’s,” Nick whispers, “did you say something about my hair?”

Mike glances away from him and answers with a shy shrug. “I may have said it was nice. I think it suits you.” His eyes wander over the strands, down the locks that fall over his shoulder in wisps.

Nick smiles at him. Mike swallows roughly. “Funny timing, since it came up when I teased you about having a crush.”

“Huh.” Mike bows his head so that their foreheads are touching. Nick can see five hundred different shades in his eyes. “Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?”

“I dunno.” Nick caresses his side; a burst of warmth spreads through his chest when Mike sighs and shuts his eyes. “I might need some convincing.”

Mike tugs him by the hips and kisses him. Nick melts into the embrace and the kiss. There’s a song playing in the background that sounds strangely like the one Carisi had sent him, but there are more important things to focus on. And even if there wasn’t, Nick doesn’t need a song to tell him how crazy in love he is for Mike Dodds.

**Author's Note:**

> Some friendly notes:  
> -"Ben de la Creme" is a real drag queen and I love her so much, we stan an icon  
> -Sonny's drag name—Justice Prudence—was partially inspired by someone on Twitter who suggested I use "Juris Prudence" which is a pun on jurisprudence, the theoretical study of law  
> -Nick's drag name—Isabel Pepper—is a pun on "it's a bell pepper" but also I feel like Isabel is a family name that makes him happy and he wanted to be a sentimental weenie and I love him  
> -Mike's drag name—Laila Teacup—is a nod to Laila Ali, a former boxer and the daughter of boxer Muhammad Ali, and "teacup" of course is playing on how big he is because listen he's a big dude but he IS GRACEFUL AND DAINTY i love him


End file.
